Spring will Come
by AngieT
Summary: Frodo is a sensitive lad.


Spring Will Come

AngieT

Thanks to Maura for the Beta

Early hobbit fluff. Pre Quest.

There had been enough of a snowfall that morning to keep any hobbit without a pressing need to go out snug indoors sitting in front of their fires.

Two such hobbits were Mr Bilbo Baggins of Bag End and his young cousin Frodo.

Even now they sat in two matching easy chairs on either side of the study fireplace, mugs of hot malt drink at hand on little tables and a pile of napkin-wrapped buttered scones should either of them feel a little peckish. Bilbo was reaching for his second scone when something about Frodo's demeanour made him look up. Frodo was curled into his chair, feet tucked up under him and a book from the library propped on the arm of the chair.

Bilbo smiled. It had been a scant twelve-month since Frodo had come to live at Bag End but the young hobbit had taken to the quiet scholarly life like a duck to water. He was devouring Bilbo's library with a rapidity which made the older hobbit think he would soon have to send to Rivendell for some more books. Frodo had been learning Elvish too and it was probably an Elvish book the lad was reading now.

Bilbo paused just as he was about to bite into his scone. Frodo seemed even more hunched in his chair than was his usual posture, his shoulders tense and the knuckles gripping the book were white.

"Frodo lad?" Bilbo asked in some concern. It took a second repetition before Frodo lifted a face that had been obscured by the wild tangle of his dark curls.

"Yes, Bilbo?" he asked, and his voice was husky.

"Are you catching a cold?" Bilbo got up from his chair and took the two steps which brought him in front of Frodo's chair.

"No," croaked Frodo and ducked his head again.

Bilbo reached out and put his hand against the lad's cheek – and his fingers came away damp.

"Frodo! Whatever is it my lad?" Bilbo's voice was full of caring concern and with a gasping sob Frodo flung himself from his chair, and ran from the room.

Dumbfounded, Bilbo remained standing by Frodo's precipitously vacated chair. What in Middle-earth was wrong with the lad? He had been fine yesterday. The two of them had taken advantage of a sunny day and gone for a short walk. They had exclaimed in delight together over the first signs of spring that seemed to have suddenly appeared. There were little buds appearing on the trees and in the hedgerows there had been the first hint of bluebells pushing up through the soil. Frodo had been especially delighted to find, just inside the Bag End gate, a patch of snowdrops that seemed to have been placed there by magic.

They had both been a little disappointed by the return of the snow this morning but surely this minor but predictable setback in the spring's progress was not enough to set the lad off into the floods of tears Bilbo had just witnessed.

Bilbo resumed his chair, knowing of old it was useless to follow Frodo and try to find out what was wrong. That lad gave a whole new meaning to 'Stubborn Baggins.'

Bilbo nibbled on his scone as he tried to remember anything that might give him a clue as to Frodo's behaviour. The lad was terribly sensitive. Bilbo had even gone so far as to purchase a book on parenting when Frodo had moved in. Tweens could be tricky things. Mood swings were just a symptom of the changes their bodies were going through. It was a very confusing time for a young hobbit and Bilbo wanted to be ready in case Frodo had any questions for him. He had markers in various pages of the book. One of the markers was in a chapter all about the emotions of tweens and how they could change so rapidly. Blushing, Bilbo had skipped the part about hobbit lasses and their monthly mood swings, but his attention had been caught by a section about how the weather could affect a young hobbit. Shut up for the winter and deprived of sunlight a hobbit of either gender could suffer from "Sunshine Absence Depression." Maybe this was what was bothering Frodo.

But the lad had been so cheerful over first and second breakfasts. It was all very puzzling.

By dinnertime the snow had ceased to fall and Samwise Gamgee was shovelling it from the path leading up to Bag End. He paused every now and again to stamp his feet and look around rather sorrowfully at the garden beneath its blanket. He hoped the snow would not carry on long into spring. If it did there would be the danger of damage to the new growth. Although still just a little lad, Sam took his gardening responsibilities very seriously. One day Bag End would be his garden to tend. He was going to be one of the finest gardeners in Hobbiton and make his Gaffer proud.

"Hello Sam."

"Master Frodo," Sam touched his cap. He had nearly reached the nice green front door of Bag End and he knew there would be hot soup waiting for him in the cosy environs of Bag End's kitchen.

"Is everything all right?" Frodo asked. "You looked so solemn."

"Oh yes, Master Frodo," Sam smiled. "I was just looking at them snowdrops by the gate. The wind has quite flattened them."

"What? Oh no!" and Frodo had run past Sam and was kneeling by the fallen snowdrops, lifting them with his fingers.

"They'll soon perk up in the sunshine," Sam assured and was horrified to see Frodo's face crumple as though under the weight of some heavy grief and then the young master was running back into Bag End and vanished from sight. Sam had just enough time to see tears falling down the pale face.

"Good grief!" said Bilbo who had been coming to the door to call Sam in for his soup and had nearly been bowled over by Frodo. "What on earth has happened now?"

Bilbo and Sam looked at each other, stricken.

"He just looked at the snowdrops," Sam quavered. "And he got all upset cause they were drooping."

Not for the first time Bilbo wished Bell Gamgee were still around to give him advice.

Frodo did not make an appearance at dinnertime and while Sam was eating his soup Bilbo walked down the corridor and tapped on Frodo's bedroom door.

"Frodo?"

There was no reply and Bilbo pushed the door open and stuck his head in. "Frodo?"

A blanket-covered mound on the bed testified to Frodo's presence. The mound shifted slightly and sniffed. Bilbo came over and sat on the bed. He reached out and patted the blanket where he thought Frodo's head might be.

"I'm not going to force you lad, but you know you can always talk to me about whatever is bothering you."

The blanket sniffed again. Bilbo sat a little longer and then left.

Sam had finished his soup and bread and greeted Bilbo with large concerned eyes. "Is Master Frodo all right?"

"I have no idea," said Bilbo resignedly and poured himself another cup of tea.

Sam got up and put his soup bowl, plate and spoon on the side of the sink. Then without saying anything he trotted into the corridor and down to Master Frodo's door. The young Master of Bag End had always been a great friend to Sam, and Sam thought the world of the older lad. Many a time Master Frodo had done him one kindness or another, always treating Sam as though he were an equal and not just the gardener's lad. When Sam was just a sprout Master Frodo had played with him and told him stories, shared his sweets with him, and they had gone on adventures down to Bywater together. More than one upset had been cured by playing Cave Trolls under the embroidered eiderdown stretched between two upturned chairs in Master Frodo's room. When his Ma had died it was to Master Frodo he had gone.

Sam made his way now to Master Frodo's room and pushed the door open. The eiderdown was neatly folded at the end of the bed and Master Frodo himself was buried under blankets.

Sam paused for a moment but he knew a friend in need when he saw – or rather did not - see one. He crawled up onto the bed and burrowed himself under the blankets.

"Master Frodo?"

"Oh Sam!" said Frodo.

"Don't be sad," pleaded Sam. "You'll see, them snowdrops will soon pick up." And Sam wrapped his small arms around his hero and did his best to comfort him.

At suppertime Frodo made a sheepish reappearance. His face still looked tragic but also somewhat ashamed.

"Bilbo, I am sorry for worrying you."

Bilbo came over and hugged his lad. "I was worried. Can you tell me what is wrong?"

Frodo shrugged. "I can show you – but you are going to think me such a fool."

"I doubt that, lad," said Bilbo, "But I would like to know what has upset you so."

Frodo turned away and Bilbo followed him back to the study and banked up the fire while Frodo stood by the armchair looking at it with embarrassment. Seeing Frodo's discarded book still on the arm of the chair he picked it up and smoothed the worn leather cover with his fingers.

It was the tale of Luthien and Beren. Opening it to where Frodo had last been reading he read a few lines. The words were so beautiful and so sad. The lovers torn apart, Beren imprisoned …. Enlightenment dawned.

"Oh Frodo, Frodo my dear, beloved, most sensitive of lads," Bilbo took the book and sat back in his own armchair and drew Frodo along with him. "It is no shame to be moved by such beautiful poetry."

Frodo sniffed. "It was just… just … "

Bilbo looked into the large blue eyes in which very emotion the lad felt was shown. He reached up and pulled Frodo into the chair; glad that the lad was so slim they could both fit into it together. "When I first read this tale I cried like a baby. Now come and sit with me and we will finish it together. For there is a happy ending."

And so Bilbo and Frodo sat together into the evening and if there were a few tears shed on both sides there was also warmth and loving and in the morning it was spring once more.

The end


End file.
